Dear Hawkeye,

If you're reading this, then you already know I'm dead. When you found out, did you make some quirky comment and brush it off before you let it sink in? Did you even care? I know I'm your best friend, you've told me on a number of occasions (mostly when you were drunk) and you must be mine considering the number of times I've let you rope me into going on dates with the nurses.

I never considered myself gay before, and I've always found Klinger's acts funny, but after sharing a tent, and working with you every day, even the most beautiful women did nothing for me. I even slept with a few of the girls I went out with, and the last time, it was you below me, not Annette for a moment. Scared the shit out of me.

I probably died when the Chinese decided to bomb 4077 again. Or maybe a traumatized patient stuck me with an overdose of a painkiller. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter now.

I wrote this letter to say one thing.

That I'm in love with you.

And I'm sorry you had to find out this way.